


onwards, upwards, forever

by postfixrevolution



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Canon, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), has pretty cover art!!, i cannot tag for everything in here so i will Not but sorry it's so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21783181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/pseuds/postfixrevolution
Summary: 15 (+1) ways to kiss someone.a collection of snapshots, none of them related.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 14
Kudos: 220





	onwards, upwards, forever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astronomicallie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomicallie/gifts).



> a bit belated, but a birthday present for a dear friend of mine! happy birthday, allie, ily lots and am excited to keep being friends with you for all the time to come!! <3
> 
> also, check out allie's [fanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astronomicallie/pseuds/astronomicallie), she has lots of amazing 3h stuff (and Really good sylvix >:3c)
> 
> art by [@midoriyaizuhugs](https://twitter.com/midoriyaizuhugs) on twitter! be sure to show creator's style (top bar, near the bookmark/subscribe buttons) to view the image on mobile without having to scroll horizontally.

####  **1\. as a promise**

-

Sylvain has a special place in his mind to store a list of every corner Felix likes to tuck himself into when he's upset. It spans from the curtained alcove three-quarters of the way up Gautier manor's highest spire to the small gap between the shelves in his father's library that hold the financial records and the Fraldarius family genealogy. 

This time, Sylvain finds Felix in the corner of the grain storage room, sitting between two barrels of wheat that look larger and heavier than either of them can imagine growing into. He tosses furtive looks over his shoulder before he ducks in, anxious after having to escape his father's sharp gaze to make it even halfway to the servants' wing. 

When the door clicks shut behind him, Felix lifts his head up from between his legs. His eyes are pink and swollen, wide with alarm and wet with the stubborn sheen of tears. The alarm fades quickly when he registers that it's Sylvain that had found him, but the glassy, wet shine of them is harder to banish. Sylvain rushes to his side, knees knocking against the hard stone floor. He wastes no time in bringing fussy hands up to his cheeks, pushing Felix's fingers away in favor of his gentler own as he smudges away the remains of a damp trail of tears.

"You didn't have to hide," he chastises him softly, running restless fingers along the curve of his cheeks, pushing unruly hair away from his eyes and behind his ears. Felix sniffles softly, lets Sylvain fuss over him as he pleases. It's a pattern they know well by now, and it calms them both, easing the tension from Sylvain's shoulders and the quivering from Felix's own. "You didn't have to _run_ , Fe — not away from _me._ "

Felix sniffles, nodding mutely into the older boy's ministrations, and Sylvain puffs out a soft sigh before tugging him forward. His nose bumps Sylvain's chest as he buries himself into it, smothering the last of his tears into the thick wool of his tunic, but Felix slots into place easily. He winds his arms around him like it is second nature, and Sylvain may have long outgrown him, but Felix's arms are still long enough that he can twist his fingers into each other and Sylvain's coat, centered right at the steady base of his spine. 

"I didn't know where to _go_ ," he babbles uselessly, muffled into the soft fabric at Sylvain's chest, and Sylvain quiets him with fingers combing gently through his hair, shushes washing over them like the whisper of wind through the brilliant green treetops in spring. "I'm sorry, Syl, I—"

"That's okay." Sylvain pats his back soothingly, and Felix nods against him, arms squeezing tighter. "It's okay, Fe. Don't apologize. Do you wanna talk about it? Glenn is okay, y'know?"

Felix tilts his head up at the news, and Sylvain offers him a reassuring smile, pushing an unruly strand of hair behind his ear. 

"He is?"

"Of course he is. Your brother's amazing — there's nothing he _can't_ do, so he'll get better. The healers said he already is." 

The younger boy nods and Sylvain feels himself relax a little at the sight. He moves to gently ruffle his hair in reassurance, but another sniffle stops him short, tears brimming again in Felix's copper eyes. 

"Felix, wh—"

"I was so _scared,_ Sylvain. I thought— I thought Glenn was gonna _die_ —"

"Hey, don't—" Sylvain dives to wipe away at Felix's tears again, swiping at them as they catch on his lashes and tumble down his cheeks. "He's okay, I swear. Don't say that. _No one_ is dying — not Glenn, not the other knights, not anyone."

"Not you?"

" _What?_ I— I'm not going anywhere, Felix."

Felix shoves his face into Sylvain's chest, arms squeezing his waist so tight Sylvain coughs, breath pushed out all at once. He has half a mind to shake him, telling him to loosen up, but Felix's arms tremble as they cling to him, words muttered senselessly into the fabric of his tunic. 

" _Promise me,_ " he demands, muffled and soft. "Promise me you won't go — you won't die. Nothing... no _where_ without me, Sylvain."

Sylvain rubs his back in wide, soothing circles, nodding with his head leaned atop Felix's. It sounds like so much to promise, but he agrees in a heartbeat; he can't imagine a future that doesn't feature them side by side, so what point is there in saying no? He'll die before he's not there for Felix.

"Nowhere without you," he agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of Felix's head. "We'll stay together until we die together. I promise."

* * *

####  **2\. good morning**

-

Felix stirs with the crawl of sunlight through the gap in their curtains, an annoying testament to his flurried tumble into bed the night before. His hands were too caught up between tousled tufts of auburn hair and the tug of worn linen shirts over broad, broad shoulders to bother with drawing their curtains all the way shut. It hadn't seemed urgent at the time — not in comparison to the urgency of Sylvain's teeth and tongue at the junction of his neck, to his hands pressing Felix's wrists firm to the mattress, like the last two pillars above his crumbling ruin, coming apart at the curve of tanned sky and brilliant sun stretched out endlessly above him.

In hindsight, he regrets the frantic rush of it all, if only because the sun that shines past his closed eyelids is far too bright. Squeezing his eyes even tighter, Felix burrows himself deeper into his sheets and Sylvain's arms, radiating every bit the warmth that the outside sun has yet to pour in. He's dedicated himself to a morning begun more reasonably — maybe when the sun is high enough that it can banish some of the lingering cold that clings to the spring air in Gautier — but his movements have already disturbed the man beside him. 

Sylvain shifts with a low groan, the sound rumbling pleasantly in the flat of Felix's back pressed to his chest, and he squeezes his arms closer, burrowing his face into Felix's hair with the insistence of needy child. 

"We forgot to close the damn curtains again, didn't we?" His voice is muffled — into Felix's hair and against the back of his neck — but Felix gets the gist of it, deciding he would much rather focus on Sylvain's breath filtering through the tangle of his hair instead, letting it dance warm lazy against his nape. He hums absently, pushing gently at Sylvain's arms so he has room enough to turn around, staring up at his lover's sleep-heavy features from so close that he feels his eyes begin to cross. 

"I blame _you_ for that one," he drawls, leaning his forehead lazily against Sylvain's own. Sylvain bumps his forehead petulantly against Felix's at the accusation, drawing back just enough to shoot him a bleary, lidded excuse for a glare. It's not the least bit threatening, easing a scoff past Felix's lip, and copper eyes watch the gentle rustle of Sylvain's disheveled bangs as air rushes past it. "Looks like our morning is beginning earlier than usual today."

Groaning again, Sylvain blinks hard, trying to force away his last few dregs of sleep. By the time his eyes come back into focus, Felix can see the way the gap in their curtains has let in enough sun to splash a generous panel of liquid gold across Sylvain's features, making his hazel eyes glow something honey-colored and warm. 

"Good morning," Felix greets him, lips quirked in fond amusement. 

Sylvain adopts a small smile of his own, one arm unwinding from around Felix to brush his unruly bangs out of his face. He lingers afterward, fingers light and lazy over the swell of Felix's cheek, leaning close enough to nudge his nose against Felix's, a wordless request that they both know well. Felix exhales a soft laugh but acquiesces nonetheless, tilting his head so that Sylvain can easily press their lips together.

He kisses Felix slowly, fingers light against his cheekbone and lips closed — because he claims his morning breath is horrible, even if Felix doesn't care and never will, not when it's Sylvain and it's something gentle like this, slow and explorative, as if every subsequent kiss is a practice in rapture and rediscovery. When Sylvain pulls back, his eyes are half-lidded and brimming with adoration enough to make Felix's next breath come out shaky, to make his heart swell in his chest.

"Good morning to you too," Sylvain grins, playful and content. Felix rolls his eyes at his exuberance, but he doesn't bite back his smile as he drags himself up, tugging Sylvain with him to begin their day.

* * *

####  **3\. good night**

-

They stand at Felix's door, because Felix's is closer to the entrance that they had both ambled through arm in arm and because Sylvain, for the life of him, can't take those 17 extra steps to take him to his own. 

He has taken his weight off of Felix, no longer needing the additional help to make it from that long trek from the infirmary to their dorm rooms, but he misses the steady strength of him anyway. His skin still burns with the warmth of Felix's shoulder hooked under his arm and his fingers pressed firm into Sylvain's side, like it might topple them both if he were to ever let go.

Felix stands now, arms crossed and eyes pointed at the floor between them, not saying a word. Sylvain doesn't quite know how to fill the silence too, if he's being honest, but he knows what he _doesn't_ want to fill it with — and that's with him leaving, even if he can't figure out _why_. 

"Thanks," Sylvain blurts, and it's a start. He's not sure he would have made it all the way back — not with his side still churning from the sudden shift between violently split open to magically sealed shut — and Felix, who had stubbornly stayed at his bedside all day, all but insisted that he help Sylvain back. Felix grunts in acknowledgment, still staring at the ground.

"I— I guess we should sleep," he offers lamely, fingers curling at his side. "It's been a long day. For you and me both, really." 

At that, Felix tilts his head up, meeting Sylvain's gaze with something sharp, urgent. 

"For _you_ ," he insists, because Sylvain was the one who was dragged off a battlefield and stitched painfully back together. Felix only had the option to watch in horror as it happened, tearing himself apart with worry the entire time. "I didn't— I'm not tired," he lies. Sylvain can see it in the shadows beneath his eyes. "Not after all of this."

"You _are_ ," Sylvain insists, stepping forward punch his friend's shoulder gently, unwinding his crossed arms and guiding one hand toward his door. "Go to sleep, Felix. You need the rest just as much as me."

" _No,_ I don't—"

" _Yes_ , you do." Sylvain rolls his eyes, pushing the door open for both of them. When Felix stumbles inside, Sylvain follows halfway, leaning against the doorframe in place of inviting himself in. The younger boy glares up at him, but Sylvain only rolls his eyes, likening him more to an affronted cat than anything as he watches him puff up in annoyance. 

"I _told_ you, I'm not tired," Felix bites back.

"Well _I_ am," Sylvain interjects, "so much so that the only way I could _possibly_ get enough sleep is if _you_ get in a few hours for me, too."

And _that_ makes him lighten up a bit, the sheer ridiculousness of the statement causing Felix to snort. 

"That makes absolutely no sense," he deadpans. The amused tilt to his lips doesn't go unnoticed, and it makes Sylvain grin. 

"And yet, I don't hear a disagreement."

Heaving a sigh, Felix shakes his head. 

"And yet, you don't," he agrees, accompanied by a fond roll of the eyes. His gaze flickers up toward Sylvain, and the previous annoyance is gone, replaced by something far softer, far closer to the full-bodied relief that had shone in his eyes when Sylvain had stirred awake with sunset-gold pouring in through the infirmary windows to light Felix's impossible smile aflame.

"Good night then?" Sylvain asks, unable to hide the hopeful twinge to it. "You'll get some sleep, for me?" Felix exhales a soft snort, lips curling up into the gentlest hint of a smile. He nudges at Sylvain carefully, pushing him off of his doorframe to see the older boy out. 

"Good night, Sylvain," he reassures him, stepping onto his toes to reach for Sylvain's cheek, turning his head just enough to press a quick kiss against his cheekbone. It catches him by surprise, heartbeat stuttering in his chest as Felix pulls just as quickly away. He doesn't get the chance to react before the door is closed, leaving Sylvain speechless and alone.

"Good night," he mutters dizzily, more to himself than anyone else. 

The next morning, Sylvain doesn't remember taking the 17 extra steps it took to reach his room, but he does remember Felix, and the soft curve of his smile before he kissed him goodnight.

* * *

####  **4\. goodbye**

-

There's a road nestled right at the heart of Itha, where the well-worn paths branch distinctly between the Gautier and Fraldarius territories. With all of their classmates long gone, branching off earlier to head back to their respective lands, Felix and Sylvain are the only two that remain. Something about being the last two left makes it even harder to go. 

Something about it being _Felix_ that Sylvain has to leave behind makes it absolutely excruciating.

"So this is it," Sylvain breathes, words curling up in the shape of fog in the frigid Faerghus air. 

There is a sense of finality to it that doesn't fit the size of what they had just run from, but neither of them makes a move to question it. Felix sits stiffly in his saddle and stares east, down the dirt path that will take him home. Sylvain's steed faces north, ready to take the barren path back to Gautier, but its rider can't tear his gaze away from the back of Felix's head trying to memorize the way his hair falls unruly from its bun after so long on frantic horseback. He flicks the reins gently, easing his horse to sidle up to Felix's own. 

"This is just the beginning," Felix mutters, so quiet that Sylvain might have thought he imagined it if he hadn't seen how fog danced outward and upward from his mouth as he spoke. His lips are pursed, brow furrowed in the way it always does when Felix has more to say, but no sure way to phrase it. Usually, Sylvain will meet it with patience, waiting as long as he needs to find the right words, but he knows that there's no time for that now, when Garreg Mach still billows smoke into the sky far behind them. 

" _Felix_ ," he begins suddenly, and when Felix turns to face him, Sylvain doesn't wait. He leans out of his saddle just enough to bridge that gap between them, pressing their lips together and hoping that it can say enough, that it can reassure Felix that — of the things ahead of them and the things they've left behind — Sylvain understands. 

The kiss is quick — too quick, Sylvain's mind laments, begging that he drag them both off their horses and try it again, make it long enough that it could fool them both into thinking it could last them an eternity — but there's no time for anything else. Felix gawks at him for only a second, face flushed from a mixture of the shock and the cold Faerghus air, but he eventually sets his features into something more neutral, lips still pressed tight. Sylvain recognizes this one, too, can tell that this expression means Felix knows _exactly_ what he wants to say — he's only waiting for that last burst of reckless courage needed to blurt it out.

"Tell me next time," Sylvain breathes, watching Felix through the fog of his own breath. Felix stares back for what feels like an eternity — Sylvain spends it committing the striking copper of his eyes to memory, just in case — before he nods resolutely.

"I will," he agrees, fingers tight around his reins. "Don't keep me waiting."

At that, Sylvain can't help but grin.

"I won't," he promises, feeling light for the first time since they had escaped. Felix must feel it too, because his lips twitch ever so slightly at the corner, copper eyes twinkling with a light Sylvain prays he'll never forget. When they finally flick their reins, heading two separate ways, Sylvain doesn't look back. He knows, by the virtue of this new promise, that there's no future in which they won't see each other again.

* * *

####  **5\. where it hurts**

-

Felix hisses, brows furrowing when Sylvain pulls the bandage too tight. Cursing under his breath, Sylvain loosens his grip, lets the gauzy fabric flutter out of his fingers as he mutters half-formed apologies and picks up the task anew. 

"If you're not up to it, I can do it just fine myself," Felix snaps, glaring holes into the floor. He doesn't move out of Sylvain's hold as he says it, statue-still and patient to a fault, and Sylvain pauses, waiting to see if he _will_. When he doesn't, he starts wrapping the wound again — gentler this time, taking care to tug at the gauze just enough to set it flush against the fresh cut. Felix doesn't make a sound, but he shifts to allow Sylvain easier access. The minute gesture doesn't go unseen.

"Just let me do this for you." Sylvain huffs, smoothing down another round of gauze, praying that crimson doesn't blossom across its wispy white surface as quickly as last time. He regrets not pushing the professor to instruct him in faith while they were still at the Academy, but regret won't staunch the weeping gash on Felix's shoulder, just close enough to a major artery to shake them both. "It's too bad neither of us studied faith back at the Academy," he babbles, if only to fill the silence that separates them.

"There was no point. We're soldiers, not healers."

"Well, soldiers get hurt, don't they? Even a basic healing spell would have stopped your bleeding ages ago."

"Complaining about it won't do anything, Sylvain. We'll find a healer once we reach Galatea. Are you done?"

"Almost," Sylvain hums, smoothing down the fraying edges of the gauze. His fingers glide over the jut of Felix's collarbone as he does, and the gentle pressure of it makes Felix exhale, shuddering and slow. Their rented room is warm, so it's obvious to both of them that his shiver wasn't from the cold. 

"Then hurry up," Felix hisses, irritated and _breathless_. Sylvain watches him turn away in a mixture of fascination and hunger, neck stretching as he glares at the opposite wall, throat bobbing as he swallows. He fumbles twice as he ties the ends of the bandage off, unsure if the graze of his fingernails against Felix's bare skin is accidental or entirely on purpose. 

When he finishes tucking the loose ends of the gauze away, he leans forward absently, pressing his lips over where the brunt of the cut lays. Felix's breath catches in his throat and for a second, Sylvain is worried he hurt him. Hazel eyes flicker up, and they latch onto Felix's molten copper immediately, backlit by the brilliant red flush of his cheeks. 

"All done," Sylvain breathes, shooting him a small smile. Felix forces out a strangled huff, turning away in a hapless attempt to hide his responding smile. Sylvain's chest swells at the sight of it, unabashed as he grins, leans his arm fondly against Felix's own. It doesn't go unnoticed when Felix doesn't lean away.

"Took you long enough." He rolls his eyes, catching briefly on Sylvain's glittering own. "Maybe you _should_ study healing."

* * *

####  **6\. where it doesn't hurt**

-

Sylvain leans against Felix with his chin hooked over his shoulder, eyes shut as he rests his head against Felix's own. Sleep laps gently at the edges of his mind, wading in the lazy rhythm of the occasional turned page. When the silence between each quiet shuffle stretches longer than usual, Sylvain peels one eye open, jostling Felix with the inside of his elbow. Felix groans as he comes to, shaking his head to clear some of the sleepy fog that had enveloped it. 

He flips another page, but the long silence happens again, and Sylvain exhales a quick laugh as he shakes Felix once more.

"Tired of studying already?" he teases. Felix clucks his tongue, bumping his head against Sylvain's. 

"I'll give up my favourite dagger before I'm desperate enough to find _Reason_ exciting," he huffs. Sylvain opens his mouth to retort, but Felix stops him with a finger pressed to his lips, shooting him a sidelong glare. "Useful, perhaps," he adds, "But far from thrilling."

Sylvain quirks an eyebrow at him as he wraps fingers around his hand, tugging it away from lips mouth so he can speak. He laces their fingers together lazily, letting their hands rest atop the open book in Felix's lap.

"You say that now, but wait until we're slinging spells on the battlefield," he grins. "I know you're attached at the hip to your swords, but even _you_ have to admit that tossing around a fireball or two is pretty cool." 

Felix snorts as he wiggles himself free of Sylvain's grasp, moving his textbook to the other side of the bed. After a bit of clumsy maneuvering, Sylvain finds himself face to face with the other boy, Felix still half perched in his lap as his legs lazily bracket Sylvain's hips. 

"Always so obsessed with appearances, aren't you?"

Sylvain grins, eagerly recapturing Felix's hands. "Who said it was _my_ appearance that I was excited about?" 

Felix flushes slightly as he averts his gaze, a slight that only makes the other boy grin wider, squeezing the hands he holds tightly in his own. When he tugs at his hands, trying to pull away again, Sylvain lets one of them go, too stubborn to release the other. With a small pout, Felix allows Sylvain to play gently with the slender line of his fingers, massaging his palm in absent, gentle circles. 

Hazel eyes drift down toward their joined hands in the ensuing quiet, tracing the creases and scattered scars that cover Felix's. With his palm splayed open like this, he can see the remains of an ancient scar — long and sinuous as he runs perpendicular through his life line.

He traces it with his thumb, stilling only when Felix's fingers curl over him, stopping his path short.

"Weird place for a scar," Sylvain hums, lifting his head to catch Felix's eye. The younger boy stares down at their hands. "Kitchen accident?"

"Sword sharpening," Felix corrects him, a gentle snort feathering out the end of his words. "I was only a child. My whetstone slipped, and I nearly took off half of my fingers. It was a stupid mistake."

"You live and you learn," Sylvain shrugs, prying his thumb free. As Felix's fingers unfurl, he shifts his grip down to his wrist, tugging the hand up to his mouth. Felix looks at him, brows furrowed, but Sylvain only smiles softly, lifting the hand to his lips. He plants a ponderous kiss against the curve of Felix's palm, right over the scar, watching the steady blossom of red across his cheeks with hazel eyes alight.

"It doesn't hurt anymore, you idiot," Felix murmurs, eyes glued to his shoulder. "There's no need for that."

"The fact that it _doesn't_ gives me every reason to," he laughs, warm and breathy against the surface of Felix's palm. Felix exhales a low shudder, falling forward to rest his head atop Sylvain's shoulder and letting the older boy smooth one last kiss against his hand, drawing his arms around to rest lazily at his waist. 

Sleep begins to tug at his mind again as he wraps his own arms around Felix, easing him close. He can't help the fond tilt of his smile as Felix leans into him without fuss, a quiet sigh tumbling unbidden past his lips. By the time Sylvain's breaths slow to a measured, sleepy rhythm, Felix is already long asleep.

* * *

####  **7\. on a falling tear**

-

After Felix knocks four times on Sylvain's door, demanding to be let in, he gives up and decides to try the window. It's not his _worst_ idea. Sylvain only lives on the second floor, right next to a trellis that — to Felix's ten-year-old mind — exists _only_ for him to climb it in his journey to burst gracelessly through his best friend's window. 

Sylvain screams when Felix crashes in, landing flat on his face in the plush, artisan rug. When he realizes exactly _who_ had barged so suddenly in, he gives up the screaming in favor of his blanket pulled up to his cheeks and a bug-eyed look, gawking at Felix as if he isn't quite sure he's real. Flipping dizzily onto his back, Felix stares right back, head tilted all the way back so he can look at him. 

Even upside down, the puffy red tint to Sylvain's eyes is impossible to miss. Felix scrambles onto all fours and toward Sylvain's bed, watching the older boy sink further back into his sheets as he does. It isn't like him at all. By the time Felix has clawed his way up to sit cross-legged in front of him, Sylvain is entirely lost beneath the covers.

Felix gently pokes the lump that is Sylvain.

"Syl, are you okay?"

"I'm fine." His voice is muffled from underneath the blankets, but Felix doesn't believe him. The image of Sylvain, puffy-eyed and half hidden beneath his covers, is hard to shake. "Why're you here, Fe?"

"Why didn't you let me in?" he asks in reply, tugging petulantly at the sheets. Sylvain's grip on them tightens. "I knocked a hundred times, and you didn't even _say_ anything!"

"You did _not_."

"Did too. Maybe you were too busy being _dumb_ to count," he shoots back, giving the blanket a harsher pull. It's ripped out of Sylvain's hands with a yelp from the other boy, but Felix throws it to the ground before he can catch it, grabbing Sylvain by the shoulders to keep him from leaping after it. Sylvain shoots him an utterly betrayed look, but _that's_ not what Felix focuses on. 

He sees the puffiness of his eyes, the hastily wiped away trails of tears still half there on his cheeks. On the corner of his jaw, there's an ugly red blob, only barely beginning to turn bruised and purple at the center. Sylvain's eyes widen when he sees the shock on Felix's face, hazel eyes brimming with fresh tears as he tries to shove the younger boy away. 

"Hey!" Felix grabs at his flailing wrists, tries to wrestle his much larger friend into some semblance of peace before one of them ends up a sprawling mess on the floor. "Sylvain, stop it! You're gonna hurt yourself!"

Sylvain slows only when the younger boy raises his voice, arms trembling in Felix's grasp. His chest aches at the sight of him, tears spilling over as Sylvain sniffles, and Felix lets go like he's been burned, diving in to wipe them away with clumsy reassurances and clumsier hands, so unused to being the one to comfort first. 

He's sure to be gentle around the bruisingly red mark, fingers gently glazing over the tears that dare trail down it, and Sylvain must notice his hesitation because he raises a weak hand to Felix's wrist, trying to push him away.

"Syl, what happened?"

"I—" He sniffles again, wiping at his nose. "I don't wanna talk about it, Fe."

"I'm sorry."

"Wh— What're you apologizing for? You didn't _do_ anything."

Felix sighs, hands falling into his lap as his shoulders sag. "But you're _hurt_ , and I— I didn't _do_ anything to help."

"You climbed in through my _window,_ Fe," Sylvain garbles, sniffling around a watery laugh. Felix flushes at the reminder, looking away.

"Well, that's because— You were being dumb! I _knew_ something was wrong, Syl, you never hide like this! I _know_ you, and you— W-wait," he stutters, looking up to see another wave of tears falling down Sylvain's cheeks, "Don't start crying again, Syl, I—"

Sylvain stops him with arms thrown around his shoulders, dragging Felix into a fierce hug. He relaxes into it gradually, running fingers through his short hair like Sylvain always does for him when he cries, soothing him into an idle quiet. When Sylvain sniffles again, quietly into the fabric of Felix's chest, he pulls them apart, hands light against Sylvain's shoulders.

Another tear tumbles down his cheek as Sylvain blinks and Felix leans forward to brush it away with his thumb, pressing a kiss to his cheek right where it was swept away. When he pulls away, Sylvain is looking at him with that same shine of tears against hazel, lips trembling around the edges of an unvoiced sob. Felix draws him into his chest again, fingers gentle in the messy tumble of his auburn hair.

"You'll be okay, Syl," he murmurs, chest aching at the thought of those words from Sylvain's mouth, how they always managed to put him at ease. Sylvain nods against his chest, muffling sobs into the fabric of his shirt, and Felix repeats the reassurances like a lullaby until his sniffling fades away.

* * *

####  **8\. on a place of insecurity**

-

"Ingrid won't be happy to know you're still doing this," Felix drawls. He doesn't bother to look up from his weapon maintenance as he does, knowing full well that Sylvain has little else to do than sit atop Felix's bed and take his criticisms, justly bored out of his mind.

Sylvain, in response, heaves out a sigh. "It wasn't my fault this time, honest."

"Yeah," Felix snorts, "because I'm to believe _anything_ you have to say about your track record with pleasing women."

"If you want to talk about my track record with _pleasing_ women, I can _guarantee_ that it's flawless. If we're talking about my ability not to anger them, we may have a different story."

Felix sighs, gaze flitting over to Sylvain. He's lying with his hands folded behind his back on Felix's bed, looking awfully pleased with his own joke. As much as Sylvain swears that this instance isn't his fault, something about the curve of his smug grin makes Felix loathe to accept it.

"And that's why you're here, isn't it?" he huffs, placing his hunting knife back on his desk. "Hiding in my room from your scorned lovers, leaving Ingrid out there to clean up your messes and complain to me later?"

The accusation draws an involuntary wince from the redhead, who sits up to meet Felix's gaze with a slight frown.

"Saints, Felix, you don't pull any punches, do you? Did you not consider the possibility of me just wanting to hang out with my best friend?"

He _had_ considered it, but it was only for a brief, impossibly self-indulgent moment. Now, Felix only crosses his arms atop the back of his chair, leaning against it with an air of faux interest. The unimpressed quirk of his eyebrow doesn't help the frown that gradually grows as they continue, and Felix has to quash a niggling sense of guilt at the hurt look he wears.

Sylvain sighs, deflating into himself with crossed arms.

"Alright, I get it — your expression says it all. To make it easier for the both of us, we can just say I'm here because another merchant's daughter is out for my blood," he postulates tiredly, collapsing back onto the bed. Felix can see him glaring at the ceiling from this angle, shoulders bunched up tightly. "You can go back to polishing your swords and I'll—" He gestures vaguely, trailing off with no intention to finish.

Felix clicks his tongue, kicking his foot against Sylvain's. "You're being overdramatic."

"I think I'm being a _perfectly_ reasonable amount of dramatic."

"You're acting like a child, is what you're doing." Felix rolls his eyes, lifting himself out of his chair to approach Sylvain. Grabbing him by the wrist, he drags the other man up so he's sitting on the edge of the bed, frowning up at Felix with his arms still crossed. "What's different?"

Confusion flickers across his features.

"Different? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I've said, Sylvain. What's so different about this damned merchant's daughter? You're normally not even _half_ as hung up about your breakups."

Sylvain splutters, looking up at Felix like he's grown another head. The shock does little to ease Felix's annoyance.

"You... So you really think I'm only here to hide from a _girl?"_ he asks incredulously. "And don't— _Don't_ just tell me yes, like it's really that simple."

"What do you _want_ me to tell you, Sylvain? What else am I to expect when you've already used Ingrid, Ashe — even the boar — as a means of escape from your ex-girlfriends." Felix sighs, glaring down at the floor between them. Sylvain doesn't seem keen on filling the silence that's now stretching between them, but something about this particular quiet makes Felix feel uneasy. He could lift his eyes just enough to see what expression Sylvain is wearing, but for some reason, doing it now feels more impossible than ever. 

"I can't tell what the _truth_ is with you sometimes, Sylvain." Felix curls his fingers at his side as he says it, unable to lift his gaze up. He stares at Sylvain's feet for just a fleeting moment, watches them shift awkwardly against the stone floor. "It makes it hard to take what you say at face value."

Once Felix speaks, he wonders, absently, if he should go. The thought of leaving his own room and _leaving Sylvain_ doesn't feel right, but staying rooted in place, waiting for one of them to speak, doesn't feel much better. The silence begins to stretch almost painfully before it's broken, shattered by the defeated sigh that tumbles past Sylvain's lips. 

"Believe it or not," he mutters bitterly, "I _am_ capable of being genuine." The tone of voice is jarring coming from Sylvain, and it drags Felix's gaze immediately back up. Sylvain doesn't meet it, for once, too busy gazing ruefully at the ground. "Maybe it's hard to imagine when all I've got to my name is a string of heartbreaks and fuck-ups, but... I'm not heartless, y'know. I do care, Felix."

His eyes flicker up, only catching on Felix's for a split second before they're gone. Felix doesn't remember ever wanting him to make eye contact as much as he does now, stepping closer in an attempt to find those sharp hazel eyes.

"I didn't—" 

Felix's words catch in his own throat, only half sure of what he'd wanted to say. He winces at his own ineloquence and resolves, at that moment, to replace it with action. He steps forward to bridge the gap between them with his hands pressed gently against Sylvain's chest, the fingers of his right hand curled right over his heart. Sylvain tenses, but Felix only stares at that hand, wonders if his gaze will unearth the beating thing that hides underneath it if he stares long enough. 

"I never thought you were _heartless_ , Sylvain." 

"You make it hard to believe sometimes," he chuckles weakly, and Felix knows it's meant to be a joke, but it makes him flinch anyway. His fingers curl shakingly into Sylvain's tunic, fingertips digging gently against the surface of his chest. 

"It's not supposed to be," he mutters, pushed out through clenched teeth in fear that opening them might make his voice tremble. He leans his head against Sylvain's shoulder, exhaling long and low over the span of his chest. His fingers unfurl, featherlight where they hover over the steady thrum of Sylvain's heartbeat. Where he can faintly feel the steady pulse of it, Felix presses the ghost of a kiss against it, shuddering as he feels Sylvain's breath hitch at the contact.

" _Felix_..."

"I believe you," Felix cuts him off, just loud enough for the both of them to hear. Sylvain doesn't respond, but he wraps his arms around Felix, holding him close.

* * *

####  **9\. in relief**

-

Sylvain is at the monastery's entrance as soon as the shouts from the guards begin, desperately scanning the sky for the familiar silhouette of Ingrid's pegasus against the horizon. It has been two days since their scouting troupe was scheduled to return, and Sylvain has barely slept. _Felix_ was on that mission, and every hour that passed without word from them sent Sylvain deeper and deeper into a restless panic. 

He pushes to the front of the gathering crowd just in time to see Ingrid touch frantically down, an unconscious Annette cradled desperately in her arms. He's shoved aside by a particularly urgent healer as they rush forward, but Sylvain can't quite bring himself to care when

  1. Mercedes is the one to fly past him, stumbling gracelessly to Annette's side with the most urgency he's _ever_ seen from the older woman. He watches dizzily as other healers file in, unable to really _breathe_ because —
  2. Felix isn't with them. Half their scouting group isn't here, but none of that sets in quite like the fact that Felix— _Felix isn't with them_. 



Sylvain stumbles forward, head spinning, and falls haphazardly next to a collapsed Ingrid. Pain jolts up his thighs as his knees knock against the hard stone, but it's secondary to the rising panic in his chest, blurring the mottled green and silver of Ingrid's armor.

"Ingrid, where's—"

"They're coming," she breathes, rushed out in the span of one shaking, tired breath. "They're coming, Sylvain." 

It's not enough to quell the coming dizziness, but it's enough to let Sylvain breathe again, taking in one shaky inhalation after another. The exhaustion in Ingrid's voice and heavy shoulders hits him as soon as his vision starts to clear and, struck in the chest with a sudden sense of guilt, he rushes to help pull her into a standing position, handing her off to the nearest healer. 

Hazel eyes flicker down the sprawling slope that winds all the way up to the monastery's entrance. Travel by pegasus is faster than riding horseback, as he's sure Leonie would have dragged Felix into, but the path is still empty. Staring it does nothing to quell the anxiety that simmers hot in his stomach, so he forces himself to look away, resolving to take Ingrid's mount back to the stables in the hopes that the last two of their party will come back soon.

It's a short walk from the stable and back to the entrance, but Sylvain forces himself to make sure Ingrid's pegasus is properly housed away first, saddle and vestments laid neatly to the side of its pen. There are tangles in its mane that he's hesitant to leave, but Ingrid has always been cagey in letting others groom her winged companion; he's seen the way her shoulders unfurl when she's alone with her horse, slowly combing tangles out of its matted mane, so he leaves the creature with an apologetic pat, hurrying back to the entrance.

By the time Sylvain returns, the crowd at the gates has thinned. He inches past the gates in anxious wait, as if leaning those few extra inches forward could let him see farther, as far as he needs to _finally_ catch sight of his missing friend.

When a distant splash of orange and navy peaks out over the distant hill, Sylvain feels his heart stop. Someone calls his name — he registers it briefly, a voice telling him not to be reckless when they're already on their way back — but it doesn't stop him. Sylvain bursts past the main gates, barrelling down the hill with every intention to meet them halfway.

They spot him — Sylvain can see the smear of teal shake his companion as they draw near — and when they come into focus at the bottom of the hill, Leonie slows just enough for Felix to leap off the horse, throwing Sylvain to the ground as he crashes into him. 

The air is knocked from Sylvain's lungs as they tumble down, but it doesn't matter — not as much as Felix's arms wound greedily around his waist, face burrowed into the sloping curve of his neck. 

"You're _okay_ ," he mutters, repeats it senselessly and endlessly against the matted tangle of Felix's hair. "I was so _scared_."

Sylvain feels the sting of tears at his eyes, making his every breath come out quivering and unkempt, but his world swings violently back into focus when Felix lifts his head and kisses him, melting every worry away with the insistent press of his lips.

"Of _course_ I'm okay," Felix breathes, low and weary into the seam of Sylvain's lips. His eyes are closed, eyelashes settled gently against each other, but his hands are tangled desperately into Sylvain's tunic, unwilling to let him go. "I promised, didn't I?"

"You did," Sylvain nods, forehead leaned against Felix's, unable to stop staring at every dirty, beautiful color that twists itself to paint the face he sees now. "You did."

* * *

####  **10.** **as a 'yes'**

-

Sylvain pauses before knocking, allowing himself a single, steadying breath. It only takes a quick moment before Felix responds, muffled voice telling him to come in. When copper eyes catch sight of him, the gentle quirk of Felix's lips almost stops Sylvain immediately in his tracks. It's a reaction that's becoming more commonplace between them, but seeing it never fails to kickstart Sylvain's heartbeat in his chest, making the poor thing stumble over itself at the sight of Felix's smile.

Closing the door behind him, Sylvain walks in, sitting at the foot of Felix's bed before handing him the plate of food he had brought along. Felix accepts it gratefully, letting Sylvain settle in as he begins eating. 

Sylvain tries not to watch him too obviously as he does, unsure of the standard protocol behind staring at your best friend while they're trying to enjoy their meal in an unnecessarily quiet and intimate setting, but he makes do. Felix has finished half the plate by the time he speaks up, copper eyes look lazily. They glow almost golden in the warm candlelight of his room, and it takes a conscious effort not to get lost in them.

"I would have made it down to the dining hall eventually," Felix hums, picking idly at the rest of his food. Sylvain glances at the generous amount of bandages swathed around his ankle, ignoring the pout Felix adopts when he notices the motion. "I'm recovering, not debilitated, Sylvain."

The snippy remark makes Sylvain snort, hazel eyes lifting back to Felix's own. 

"I'm no healer, but I think recovery's best done _without_ straining your injuries."

Felix huffs at him as he continues to eat, but there's a softness to the sound, a barely-there curl to his lips that Sylvain can't help but stare at, biting back a smile of his own. They're quiet in the time it takes for Felix to finish, and then Sylvain stands, offering to take the plate back once he's done. Felix curls his fingers around it for a brief second, unwilling to hand it over.

"I can bring it back in the morning," he says instead. He can't quite meet Sylvain's eye as he says it, but the paladin is well versed enough in parsing _Felix_ to understand. With a low chuckle, he pries the dish from Felix's hands anyway, meeting the swordsman's affronted expression with a wink as he simply sets it atop the desk, returning to sit at Felix's side this time. Felix has to shift over to accommodate, leaving them shoulder to shoulder on a bed that just barely fits them. 

"You're still recovering. I'll get it on my way to the dining hall in the morning."

"You say recovering, but I feel useless like this. If I had it my way, I'd have been back to training _yesterday_."

"Yesterday?" Sylvain echoes, arching an eyebrow at him. "You barely broke your ankle three days ago, Felix. Magic will speed things up, but it won't kill you to let it heal."

"It's coming closer to killing me than that demonic beast ever did," he snorts, crossing his arms. "Waiting for so long is a waste of time. While I'm sitting idle, everyone else is—"

"Wanting you to recover," Sylvain interjects, " _properly_. You're the last one of us that would get left behind, Felix, trust me."

Felix scoffs, but he doesn't make another move to argue, leaning moodily back against his headboard. Sylvain takes a quick moment to study him, biting back an amused smile at the childish tilt of his pout.

"Seeing how upset you are," he hums thoughtfully, "I'm surprised you did what you did. It's almost unlike you."

That snaps copper eyes back toward his own, Felix's pout curling into the distinct shape of a scowl. 

"Sylvain, you were—"

"I know, I know. I guess I'm just used to being the one who jumps into danger for others," he laughs wryly. "It's a bit weird being on the receiving end, especially from you."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well— You're always so careful, Felix. Knowing you got hurt this badly and knowing that _I_ was the cause of it... Let's just say it isn't the most pleasant feeling."

Felix scowls, averting his eyes. "You're not the only one who cares if the other lives," he mutters. The words are quiet, making the catch of Sylvain's breath far too audible. "You need to be more attentive on the battlefield, Sylvain. Next time, we might not be so lucky."

"Next time..." He sighs, reaching over to bump his hand against Felix's, drawing the other man's gaze back up. When their eyes meet, Sylvain slings an arm around his shoulders. "I hope there _isn't_ a next time, to be honest. I guess that's on me, isn't it?" 

Felix shoots him a sidelong glance, exhaling a wry laugh. His expression is soft, made softer still by the low glow of candlelight, and it makes Sylvain suddenly aware of how _close_ they are. His eyes flicker toward Felix's lips, and something quick flashes across those copper eyes, knowing. When Felix only leans closer, settling his weight against him, Sylvain sucks in a shaky breath. 

"I suppose it is. My life is in your hands, Sylvain," he quips, almost playfully, and _goddess_ , his smile as he says it takes Sylvain's breath away. Felix leans up, close enough for the warm breath over his lips to drive Sylvain wild, gazing at him with heavy, half-lidded eyes. "I trust that'll be motivation enough for you."

Sylvain nods dizzily, tumbling headfirst into the warmth of Felix's proximity. It's electric, the first brush of Felix's lips against his, and the gentle contact turns into an all-at-once as Felix surges up to meet him. He can feel the curve of his smile as Felix kisses him back, slow and with a steady crescendo as his hands find purchase in auburn hair, tilting Sylvain's mouth even closer. 

"It's more than enough," Sylvain agrees, whispered into the little space between them. " _You're_ more than enough," he adds, just short of breathless. Felix pulls him in again and Sylvain melts into it, fingers held firm against his back and waist, clinging tight to the life held in his hands.

* * *

####  **11\. without a motive**

-

Felix sits with his arms wound tight around Sylvain's waist, staring up at the back of his head. Given the direction that they're headed — back west, toward a crumbling monastery that they haven't seen in five years — the time is just right to have his shape silhouetted by the setting sun, coloring the fuzzy edges of his auburn hair in golds and oranges that shift and flicker in the wind like fire. The beat of his horse's gallop is loud and rhythmic, lulling Felix into a foreign sense of calm as he leans forward against Sylvain, face buried in the downy tousle of his hair. 

Sylvain runs warm — has _always_ run warm, especially in childhood memories of hands helping palm his messy tears away, soft and agonizingly careful, unused to the way they'll learn to curl harsh and unyielding around the hard steel of a lance. When Felix noses the back of his neck, drinking in the heat that lives like a perpetual summer beneath Sylvain's skin, the man in question leans slightly back. He unfurls his hunched shoulders just enough to press his back closer to Felix's chest, unwinding a hand from around his reins to rest them over the hands clasped at his front. 

He smells like sweat, steel, and smoke more than anything, a scent Felix has memorized after more time spent in camps and battlefields than anywhere else. It's never pleasant, but on Sylvain, it's tolerable — it's accompanied by the fuzzy twinge of polish and stale river water and soap, testaments of Sylvain's attempts to find time for old habits in the middle of a war. Felix focuses on that over everything else, trying not to shudder at the cut of icy wind through his hair, colder now that the sun has almost set.

"If we keep riding, we can make it to the surrounding towns just before midnight," Sylvain says, barely audible between the warring sounds of rushing wind and thudding hoofbeats. Felix feels his voice most in the way it vibrates against his chest, pressing himself closer to the low rumble of it. 

"Let's keep riding then," he nods, pressing his cheek against Sylvain's nape. He feels Sylvain nod wordlessly in response. "We're almost there."

"I wonder how much has changed," Sylvain wonders aloud, fingers twitching uncertainly around Felix's wrist. "Not just in the monastery itself. Who's to say we'll find the same people we left behind? Who's to say _they'll_ find the same people, too."

"It's been five years, Sylvain, not a lifetime."

Sylvain laughs at that one, a sound that cuts easily past every other noise they're wrapped up in. Felix had almost forgotten the sound of it after so many years away, but it's still as clear as glass, still enough to make warmth curl pleasantly in the bottom of Felix's chest. 

"It felt like it, sometimes. Especially when I thought about the last time I saw you."

Felix feels his cheeks flush at the words, and he burrows his face deeper into Sylvain's hair for it, giving him a harsh squeeze. It eases a low chuckle from the man, one that vibrates pleasantly in the space between them. He had missed Sylvain too, of course, subsisting on brief letters and even briefer battlefield glances, and the enormity of 5 touch-and-go years was far from lost on him. 

"I _couldn't_ think about it," Felix mutters, low against the back of Sylvain's neck. He feels Sylvain lean into it, wondering if he registered anything of the words except for the warm breath of them against his nape. "How close or far away or how damn long it's been. What did it matter, anyway? None of it brought you any closer."

"Well, I'm here now, aren't I?"

"After 5 years? You sure took your time," he snorts. 

"Hey!" Sylvain laughs, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "I missed you, too, Felix. The whole 5 years. I regret not making that time shorter."

"Just don't make it any longer," Felix huffs, pressing his lips against the back of Sylvain's neck. It's a lingering kiss, idling lazily against the heady warmth of his skin, and Sylvain shudders at _this_ of all things — not the trepidation over what waits for them at the monastery or the cold wind that's been biting at his skin their entire ride down. He tilts his head back against Felix's own, keeping him close, and Felix smiles into the motion, lips curling against the warm curve of Sylvain's neck. 

"You'll never be rid of me," he swears, fingers wound tight around Felix's clasped hands. "I promise."

* * *

####  **12\. because the world is saved**

-

Felix is fifteen steps away when the fighting ends. It would've been closer on horseback, but Sylvain doesn't think past his frenzied tumble off of Chastity's back, feet moving before they even hit the ground. It's fifteen frantic, dizzying steps, and the world comes crashing back into focus the second he collides with Felix, knocking them both to the ground from the force with which they meet.

His swords are knocked out of his hands — as well as the breath from his lungs, puffing past Sylvain's cheek in one full-bodied rush — and they find purchase around Sylvain's waist like it's second nature. They roll across the grass and muddy earth to the cacophony of an army's worth of distant cheering and Felix's voice in his ear, yelling at him for knocking them flat onto their asses. Sylvain finds he doesn't care about the mud or the celebration, not when they roll to a stop with his forehead pressed firm against Felix's shoulder, arms wound shockingly around his neck.

"Syl _vain_ , what are you—"

" _We did it._ "

And Felix deflates all at once, melting into the arms wrapped tight around him. His nose bumps against Sylvain's ear as he rests his head against Sylvain's own, but he relaxes, breaths shaky with exhilaration as they rifle through his hair. 

"We did," he agrees softly. Sylvain only trusts himself to nod, voice caught in his throat behind something that feels like the start of a sob, like giddy exhilaration ready to burst open a dam he didn't realize he'd spent that last five years filling. When Felix runs fingers through his hair, Sylvain shudders into him, that strangled sob tumbling past his lips anyway. 

Felix's fingers tighten in the tangle of muddy auburn, and he pushes them up into a sitting position, still nestled against each other in the middle of a battlefield — just off-center of the ground that will be immortalized as the beginning of an era. The smile wears is small, brimming with a quiet fondness that glitters in his eyes above everything else, and it all blurs into something incandescent and bright as Sylvain's vision glosses over with tears. He wrenches Felix forward into another hug, unable to fathom the idea of letting him go. 

"It's over," Sylvain mutters dizzily, tears and words muffled into the collar of Felix's shirt. He repeats it like a refrain, as if speaking it enough could pull him out of his frenzied orbit and tether him to the reality of it, to the impossibly _possible_ idea of a future where death won't wait with a blade at every next turn. Of a future where he's alive, and so is Felix, and they're _together_ to the background swell of cheering armies and a childhood promise fulfilled. 

Felix draws back first, putting just enough space between them to press his palm against Sylvain's cheek, thumbing away the stubborn tears that cling to his lashes. Sylvain's eyes catch on the brilliance of Felix's grin, and it blinds him in a way that the sunlight glinting off his tears never could, searing a sight worthy of an eternity just to revel in it. When Felix pulls him close, it's slow — a kiss that's waited over a decade to blossom into the steady crescendo that washes over them now.

" _We won._ " It's murmured into the space between their lips, low and amazed and endlessly relieved, and Sylvain echoes it back, kissing him again and again as the world they helped save spins ever onward.

* * *

####  **13\. out of lust**

-

Sylvain cackles as he ducks past one of Felix's slashes, catching the following swing against the side of his lance. The crash of wood against wood isn't out of place in the training grounds, but without the myriad others that usually join them, the sound of their solitary clashing is odd. Felix scowls, unimpressed by Sylvain's show, and thrusts again to the left, huffing in frustration as the cavalier spins gracefully past it, slamming the butt of his lance firmly against Felix's calf. He hisses, wondering if it will bruise.

"Not too bad for a good-for-nothing, right?" Sylvain gloats, hazel eyes alright as he mirrors Felix's prowl step-for-step. "Keep up, Felix — wouldn't want me to think _you're_ the one who's been slacking, would you?"

Copper eyes narrow, fully aware of the reason Sylvain taunts. He studies Felix's expression, shameless in the way his eyes drag over over the harsh set of his brows and the irritated curl of his lips. His eyes linger on Felix's lips, half on purpose and half out of pure intrigue — enraptured by the slope of them as he traces the harsh plummet of the corners into that trademark scowl. 

Felix can tell he's staring. His cheeks flush, for whatever reason — anger, irritation, or something else entirely — and it's strong enough to make him sloppy. He forgets to feint before he lunges this time, and Sylvain reads the path of his movements like a line from a children's book: transparent and direct. 

Where Felix's blade lunges right, tracking its way through a predictable upward swing, Sylvain is quick to meet him, throwing the tip of his spear right past Felix's open defenses. He catches him in the rib with the playful slap of his lance and when Felix recoils, a clever flick of his shaft knocks the sword clean out of his grip.

The wooden weapon hasn't even finished clattering to the floor by the time Sylvain has swept Felix's feet from underneath him, foot heavy on his chest as he grins down at him, lance barely skirting the curve of his throat. Felix's breath comes out in harsh puffs, the glare he shoots Sylvain only making the redhead grin wider.

His grin is toothy and sharp, and he sees Felix's eyes flicker toward it before coming back to meet his gaze. Sylvain can't help the lopsided tilt of his smirk as he crouches low enough to take a knee at Felix's side, the other falling to press firmly into Felix's chest. He digs the lance tip into the dirt beside Felix's neck, feeling the way he tenses as the dull wooden edge grazes his skin. 

"Too proud to yield?" he teases. Felix glowers at him raising his arms to knock Sylvain's lance out of his lazy grip. It falls to the ground right beside his abandoned sword, letting Felix pounce with all the grace of a lion, fingers would tight around his wrists as he throws him back into the dirt. 

"Too arrogant to end a fight correctly?" Felix bites back, lips curling into something dangerous as he looks down on him. Sylvain can't help but trace it again, dizzy from the crash of his head against the ground and only half aware of _Felix's_ eyes on his, acutely aware of where hooded hazel eyes have drifted down to. Felix is by no means heavy, but the arms pinning his wrists to the floor feel like weights; he blearily registers wanting them to bear down on him until the earth swallows him up — six feet under and still stuck in that molten copper gaze.

This time, there's nothing teasing about it: Sylvain stares at the seam of Felix's lips and licks his own, feeling the twitch of Felix's fingers as he does. _So it's not just me_ , he thinks. The flush from earlier wasn't _just_ from anger, and Sylvain flicks his eyes up toward Felix's, watching his eyelids droop lazily as he gazes down, lips parting as he swallows.

"Well?" Felix's gaze snaps back to his. "End the fight then," Sylvain breathes, and the words barely leave his lips before Felix is there to swallow them himself, hot and open-mouthed and everything that sets Sylvain _ablaze_. His hands ache to find purchase in the disheveled tumble of Felix's hair, but the swordsman keeps him pinned, knees pushing into the sides of his hips to keep him rooted in place, spread out like a map for examination — and Felix charts every inch of him, tongue licking greedily at the seam of his lips and over the front of his teeth, drawing a shuddering groan from somewhere deep in Sylvain's throat. 

Felix wastes no time in diving for Sylvain's neck, all teeth and needy nips soothed away by the hot press of his tongue across the surface of them. It draws a gasp in the shape of his name from Sylvain's lips, hips canting up to meet nothing but air. When he releases one of Sylvain's wrists, it's to use his free hand to tug down at Sylvain's collar, using the new opening to roll the skin over Sylvain's collarbone between his teeth.

"Shit— _Felix._ " Sylvain fists his hand into the messy tumble of his hair, pulling even more of it out of the bun that barely holds it, breath catching when Felix gasps at the harsh tug of it. With a hand tangled into his hair, he tries to ease Felix back up into another kiss, eager to relearn the sound of his gasps when they're whimpered into the space between them. 

Their lips meet just as the training ground doors swing open, and they spring apart so fast it sends Sylvain rolling across the dusty floor all over again. He ends up face down in the dirt when their newest companion comes to a concerned stop right at Sylvain's head, gently nudging his head with their toe.

"Surprising to see _you_ here so early," Ingrid's voice notes, generous in her amusement. "Looks like Felix was able to knock some sense into you after all."

Sylvain doesn't respond, electing to lie face down on the floor until his heart rate returns to a normal rate. He doesn't make eye contact with anyone as he takes his leave, but he can feel Felix's eyes burning into the back of his neck as he goes.

* * *

####  **14\. out of anger**

-

Sylvain flinches when his door flies open, slamming against the wall so hard that he's surprised it doesn't splinter. He closes his book in time to see Felix storm in, wincing again when he lets the heavy doors thud shut behind him. If anyone was enjoying a peaceful night before, now they _all_ know that _someone's_ in the room at the end of the hallway, and they are _pissed_. 

"You know, there's this thing called knocking, right?"

"Shut _up_. You don't get to—"

"Actually, this is _my_ room, so technically, I—"

"This isn't about your _room_ , Sylvain."

Felix stalks over, ripping the book out of his hands and tossing it onto his desk. It crashes into the corner of his chessboard, knocking half of the black pieces out of place. Sylvain scowls at the mess.

"Hey, be careful with tha—"

He is cut off by a glare, Felix standing at his bedside with his arms crossed and looking positively furious.

"You're the _last_ person that gets to talk about being careful with things," Felix hisses, and all at once, Sylvain knows exactly why he's here. The reason hangs heavy in the air, tugging at the fraying ends of the cloth bandage that wraps over the upper left half of his chest, peeking out from beneath his unlaced tunic. He presses his lips together, turning away from the swordsman with an irritated click of the tongue.

"So you're here to yell at me for it?" he mutters darkly, standing up and mirroring Felix's crossed arms. He has the height advantage now, looming over Felix with a scowl. Felix, never one to back down, glares right back. "It won't change anything. I'm alive and so is Annette, and I'd do it again in a _heartbeat_ if it ever came down to this."

"Annette can take care of herself," Felix scoffs, "And you're no good to us dead, Sylvain, constantly throwing yourself into danger. You're not meant to be a martyr, so stop trying so hard to die before the rest of us."

"What?" Sylvain laughs humourlessly. "Not worth fighting for even when I'm _dead_ , huh?"

And Felix bristles at that, twisting fingers into Sylvain's collar opposite his wound and shaking him. The motion still tugs the fabric too tight, pressing against Sylvain's bandaged shoulder enough to make him wince. Felix stills at Sylvain's hiss, but his fingers don't unfurl from the fabric of Sylvain's shirt, so tight that they start to shake. 

"You _know_ that's not what I meant, Sylvain." His gaze lowers, lingering heavily on the bandages that circle his shoulder and chest. "You're always...always—"

Sylvain grabs Felix by the wrist, feeling him freeze under the touch like a startled deer. "Always _what_ , Felix?" Copper eyes fly up to meet his, and Sylvain's breath catches at the electric intensity of them, ablaze with something far bigger than the anger that had fueled them earlier.

"You're reckless and idiotic and you throw your life away like that's all it's good for."

"It's not throwing it away when I'm using it to _save_ people—"

"It _is_. You throw your life around without the barest semblance of thought, and you can't keep doing this—"

"And why can't I? _I'd_ know my own value better than anyone, and if I think my life's worth the cost it takes to save people who actually matter—" 

"And what makes you think that _you_ don't?"

"What?"

Felix twists his fingers into the other side of Sylvain's collar, white at the knuckles and careful not to brush against his freshly bandaged wounds. Sylvain stares at him with wide eyes, fingers painfully tight around Felix's wrist, but he doesn't shake him off, relishing the sensation of finally, _finally_ feeling like he has a grip on the man.

"What makes you think you don't _matter_ , Sylvain?" 

He breathes it out with every bit of softness that his previous words had lacked. Something flashes across the hazel of his eyes, something caught between confusion and surprise — and the surprise hits Felix harder, twists his stomach at the thought that thinking he might have _worth_ is something that shocks Sylvain this much. 

Sylvain opens his mouth to respond, but Felix decides he doesn't want to hear whatever hopeless thing is about to fall from those lips. He already has him by the collar, so Felix pulls, crashing their mouths together before Sylvain has the chance to reply. He melts into the way Sylvain groans as Felix's tongue licks the seam of his lips, eager to find entrance into his mouth so that he might tumble past the line of his teeth and steal whatever words he might speak next straight from their source. 

He pours everything into this kiss, hopes Sylvain can know the enormity of his want purely by how tightly Felix clings to him, desperate to keep him close. _You matter_ , he mentally hisses, turns it into the repeating refrain to which he times everything — the movement of his lips against Sylvain's, the hapless run of his fingers through his tousled auburn hair. There's the culmination of every ounce of meaning Sylvain has poured into Felix since they were kids, and Felix wants to drill it into him, breathing it into the hollow of his mouth as Sylvain wraps hands around his hips, thumbs pressing against the line of his hip bones and making his breath catch. 

When they pull apart, Sylvain is breathless, panting against him with breaths hot as fire. His fingers curl tightly into the fabric at Felix's back, holding him close.

"That much?" he asks lowly, voice shaking and unsure. "Is it even _possible_ to matter that much?"

"Of course it is," Felix sighs, leaning his forehead against Sylvain's. He releases Sylvain's collar, letting his fingers skate tenderly along the edges of his bandages. Sylvain lets him, arms relaxing to rest firm and heavy at the curve of Felix's waist, and they bask in the quiet and the circle of their arms.

* * *

####  **15\. out of habit**

-

Felix walks into the council room eight minutes before they're scheduled to begin, finding his seat with clockwork-like ease. Of his fellow classmates, only a handful consistently arrive at the meeting as early him. Byleth and the boar murmur quietly over a sprawling map at the room's front, doubtlessly discussing what they plan to tell everyone once they've started. The professor nods in greeting as Felix finds himself a seat, the smallest flash of a smile dancing across her features. He nods in return, eyeing the opposite side of the room. Dedue and Lysithea lean against the columns and chat, not yet ready to take their seats, and Ignatz sits as close to the front as he can, scribbling something or other into his notebook. Felix doesn't really care to look closer.

When the five-minute mark hits, Ingrid files in, taking her customary seat at his right. She's followed by a large majority of their remaining classmates, but the influx of new faces doesn't contain the one Felix finds himself unconsciously seeking out — a fact he doesn't realize until there's one minute left and all the chairs save for _one_ are filled. With a frown, he turns toward Ingrid.

"Have you seen Sylvain today?"

She looks at him curiously, grass-green eyes flickering toward Sylvain's empty seat.

"Not since last night, now that I think of it. If he's forgotten about today's meeting _again_ —"

"I reminded him this morning," Felix huffs, glaring at his empty chair. "If that imbecile still had the gall to forget..."

He trails off sourly, and Ingrid exhales a quick laugh, giving him a knowing glance. "You and I _both_ won't let him hear the end of it, believe me."

Felix snorts in reply, but he doesn't have time to say much else before Byleth clears her throat, gaze flickering briefly toward Sylvain's empty seat before she turns away, addressing them all. For the first few minutes, it's mostly a brief of their last week's accomplishments; Felix spends most of it trying to listen to the professor and not the voice in his own head, wondering where Sylvain could've gone when Felix had reminded him, explicitly, that they had a war meeting later that afternoon. Maybe Sylvain simply hadn't registered it, he considers, too busy being stupid and clingy and too damn _heavy,_ making it an unnecessary struggle for Felix to wrest himself out of those warm arms and get ready for the day.

He remembers the low rumble of a hum between Sylvain's chest and his own after he'd reminded him, nose buried in Felix's hair, but he can't remember if the noise was one of sleepy content or _actual acknowledgment_. Acutely aware of the empty space beside him, Felix is beginning to think the bastard hadn't registered his words at all.

Just as Byleth finishes her summary of last week's events, she moves on to begin addressing their plans for this week, only to be interrupted by the sudden creak of the doors. They open just a crack, enough for a single redhead to surreptitiously slip through, but the loud groan of the unoiled hinges still draws everyone's gaze.

Byleth is the first to react. 

"Nice of you to join us," she says simply. The genuine lack of annoyance in her voice is somehow even more debilitating than its theoretical presence, and Sylvain winces.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologizes, having the minimum decency required to shoot the rest of the room a sheepish smile. Ingrid doesn't bother hiding her exasperated sigh. Byleth blinks at Sylvain, informing him that they'd only just begun. With a thankful nod, he makes his way to the last open seat beside Felix, greeting him with too chipper an expression for being as late as he is. With a quiet click of the tongue, Felix turns to berate him, only for Sylvain to greet him with a kiss, thoughtless and quick as he falls into his seat. It's not _exactly_ out of the ordinary for them, except for the fact that— 

_"HUH?"_

Except for the fact that they're in fucking _public_.

All eyes turn immediately to Annette, who's sitting directly across from Sylvain and Felix, gawking at them like they've just grown two new heads apiece. The shaking, accusatory finger she points their way does _not_ help.

" _Shit_ ," Sylvain hisses. Felix grits his teeth, burying his rapidly heating face in his hands. 

"I'm going to _kill_ you," he growls, and maybe Sylvain can hear it — maybe the _entire council room_ can hear it, because everyone's deathly silent and Annette is still speechless and Felix feels like he's about to invent the art of spontaneous combustion with absolutely zero magical aid. 

"You two," Annette squeaks, and Felix lowers his forehead to the table, refusing to have any part in this. "Are you—"

"H-hey, there's no need for that right now," Sylvain laughs, and the shake in his tone makes Felix sink even deeper into the table. "It was just a force of habit—"

"It's a _habit?"_

"Fuck."

"We're in the middle of a _war council_ ," Felix interjects, lifting his head to glare at, well, everyone. He skips over Annette, at least, half because he can't glare at her and half because he really, _really_ can't look her in the eye right now. "Why are we doing this now, of all times?"

"It's not my fault you two just—" Annette stutters to a stop, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. "Are you two...?"

" _Yes_ ," Felix huffs, mortified and _extremely_ ready to have this topic over and done with, "we're dating."

Beside him, Sylvain makes a strangled noise, and Felix glances over to see his cheeks flushed as bright red as his hair, staring at Felix with an overwhelming mixture of shock and adoration. It punches Felix in the stomach that he really _did_ just say that fact aloud, for everyone to hear, and he buries his face in his hands again. 

"Can we please get on with the meeting?" he begs, muffled uselessly against his palms. The responding silence stretches almost uncomfortably long, but like hell he's going to look at anyone in this room, so Felix doesn't lift his head to glare pleadingly at the professor.

"Well," Byleth begins. "I suppose we can."

She proceeds to repeat her last sentence, something about whispers of the Death Knight in the nearby sealed forest, only to pause suddenly, as if realizing something important.

"Congratulations, by the way," she states, conversational tone immensely out of place. "I hope you and Sylvain are very happy."

Felix doesn't reply, but the beleaguered thud of his forehead against the council room table is good enough.

* * *

* * *

#### 1. **out of love.**

-

Sylvain, without question, has the worst timing. His sense of propriety could also use a lot of work, Felix adds, in the rare moments when he thinks Sylvain has a sense of propriety _at all_. Now, however, is not one of those times. He doesn't even get the chance to further lament his partner's lack of common fucking decency before another Adrestian soldier careens toward him, axe in hand. Their messy footwork is stopped short by the swing of Felix's blade, and they thud lifelessly to the ground as Felix turns to glare at Sylvain.

"You can't be _serious_."

Sylvain, still half illuminated by the golden sigil of fire magic, turns to face him. In the background, the blazing remnants of Ragnorak still lick at the streets of Enbarr, and it sets his crooked grin to a backdrop of fire and blindingly blue sky. Out of every sudden attack and close call that could have left him breathless on the battlefield, nothing steals the air from Felix's lungs quite like the sight of Sylvain now — grinning like the goddess herself let there be light only to put it in the glowing hazel of Sylvain's eyes.

"What, so that's a no?" he teases brightly, music in the laughter that cuts clear through the ring of clashing steel. Felix clucks his tongue at him, ducking his head to hide the fond smile that curls up at his lips. There's no place for such things on the battlefield, but — again — Sylvain has never done anything with appropriate timing and Felix, unfortunately, can't help but amble through it all alongside him. "Come on, you can't tell me you _haven_ 't thought of it, Felix." 

Felix heads down another road, frowning slightly at the obvious clopping of Chastity's hooves against the stone. 

"We're in the middle of a _battlefield_ , Sylvain." And as if to prove his point, a myrmidon leaps out from a branching alleyway, sword aimed at Felix's head. Sylvain is quick to intercept them, the shaft of his lance crying out at the collision of sharpened silver against its steel, and Felix finishes them off, ruthless in the measured arc of his sword. 

"Doesn't mean stabbing's got to be the only thing on your mind."

"It's not," Felix snorts, leaning against an abandoned storefront to glance around the next corner. "I've plenty of slashing and parrying to think about, too — not to mention covering for how _loud_ you are. We're trying _not_ to get killed by Adrestian soldiers; you're aware of that, right?"

"I might be aware," Sylvain grins, only to wrench Felic back by the hood as an arrow whizzes past. It's accompanied by two more, and he follows with an impossibly fast fire spell in the same direction, and they stand on edge until the sound of a body falling off a balcony echoes out in the distance, and the arrows stop. "Are _you_?"

With a roll of his eyes, Felix forges on ahead, tethered to the moment only by the gentle click of Chastity's hooves against the ground. When they end up at the opening to another small plaza, Felix stops them, eyes flitting across the empty square. Sylvain, of course, decides this is the perfect time to start speaking again.

"Seriously though, I can't believe you've _never_ thought about—"

And he's stopped by another arrow whizzing past, slicing dangerously across the swell of his cheek. They spring apart like clockwork, Felix to meet the four foot soldiers that have burst into the square and Sylvain to scan the rooftops, looking for somewhere to throw the steady burn of Fire that hovers above his palm. Once the archer is dealt with, Sylvain gravitates back to his side, falling easily into the practiced step and slash that they have made all their own.

"I haven't _not_ thought about it," he admits begrudgingly, and Sylvain visually perks up, distracted enough that Felix has to knock aside a charging soldier before they impale him. He shoots him an irritated glare, and Sylvain only laughs sheepishly, falling quickly back into the flow of battle.

As Sylvain knocks a particularly close slash away, keeping it from catching Felix right in the shoulder, Felix catches his eye, just briefly enough for the paladin to flash a quick smile his way. 

"So if I _asked_ ," Sylvain begins, disarming a soldier and letting Chastity throw them halfway across the square from the force with which she slams into them, "would you—"

"You are _not_ asking me this in the middle of a battle—"

"Oh, come on! I was only saying, theoretically," and he strikes the second soldier down, lance arcing across their front with a brilliant splash of crimson.

Felix lunges after the soldier that had almost cleaved his arm off earlier, knocking the spear out of their hands and driving his sword into their stomach. He doesn't pull it out quick enough to fend off the last remaining soldier, but Sylvain steps seamlessly in, knocking them back a few paces and letting Felix lunge after them, blade poised.

"And I'm saying, _realistically_ ," he huffs, kicking the spear out of the soldier's grip, "that if you ask me to— _fuck!"_

The soldier lands a punch on Felix's mouth, flooding his mouth with the acrid taste of blood. They turn around to grab for their abandoned spear, and it's their last mistake. Felix sheathes his sword right through the back of their stomach, dragging it out and flicking blood onto the stone as Sylvain canters up beside him.

"What better time is there than now?" Sylvain says, quiet in the sudden calm. Felix turns to look up at him, caught off guard by how warmly Sylvain stares back, the smile on his features oozing an adoration that Felix _knows_ shouldn't have followed them into the middle of a bloody, brutal fight but wouldn't give up — not for the world. With his free hand, Sylvain leans down to wipe at the corner of Felix's mouth, cleaning away the blood that clings gently to his split lip. As the adrenaline of the moment drains away, Felix can't help but lean into it.

"Not here, Sylvain..."

"Where's here," Sylvain posits, "if not right next to you?" His hand cradles the curve of Felix's cheek, warm through the worn leather of his gloves. "You told me you've thought about it," he murmurs, tucking loose strands of hair behind his ear. "But what's your answer? Will you marry me, Felix?"

It's different, hearing Sylvain say it outright. He never thought they'd know peace, but it's _here_ — in the murmured cadence of Sylvain's voice now, in the glowing honey-hazel of his eyes as he looks at Felix like a man blessed. It's peace like this that convinces Felix they could live and love like this forever, past the end of this war and for time immemorial.

Confusion flashes across Sylvain's features as his sword clatters to the ground, but Felix's hand clasped around his wrist brings that brilliant rapture to his eyes again. Felix hooks a foot into Sylvain's stirrup and hefts himself up, throwing arms around Sylvain's shoulders as he kisses him hard, melting into the smile his lover smothers against his lips.

"Of course I will," he breathes, forehead resting against Sylvain's own. His eyes ooze affection in excess, all the love that they've ever shared in the shine of tears against the splash of warm honey-hazel as Sylvain kisses him again, meeting the smile on Felix's lips with a brilliant, beaming one of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/panntherism)!


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